How to Survive Fatal Explosions
by MapleRose
Summary: Just how did Mwu La Flaga manage to survive his seemingly fatal explosion at the end of SEED and is able to make it to Destiny? A humourous explanation of how he managed to make the impossible possible...with a little advice from Andy...


_Spoiler Warning: Scene taken place after end of SEED and events referring to parts of Destiny_

_Summary: _"_Wait a minute! What's going on? I thought I was killed by the Lohengrin. Aren't I dead?" Just how did Mwu manage to survive his seemingly fatal explosion at the end of SEED? A humourous explanation of how he managed to make the impossible possible...with a little advice from our explosion-surviving expert, Andy..._

* * *

HOW TO SURVIVE FATAL EXPLOSIONS  
by MapleRose

-----

"Here."

"Eh?" The blond commander looked confused as he stared at the object in the Desert Tiger's hand.

"What's this for?" he asked as he took the object being offered to him.

It was a pocket-sized book, not too thick or heavy. Mwu glanced at the title: _Andy's Guide to Surviving Fatal Explosions. _

Andy chuckled at Mwu's raised eyebrow. "Just thought you might be interested. Might come in handy one day," he winked before taking off to tend to his duties.

"O-kay, what was that's all about?" Mwu muttered to himself as he absent-mindedly flipped through the book, eyes catching "if you ever find yourself in trouble, don't forget to bargain with the scriptwriter" before tucking it away in his pocket, making a mental note to read it later.

--

--

"Didn't I tell you that I can make the impossible possible!" the Strike pilot managed to yell out as the light engulfed him.

_I'm sorry Murrue… _

--

--

"Ugh," Mwu groaned as he came-to, wincing as he held his head in an effort to sooth the pounding headache.

_What happened? Where am I?_

He looked around him. He was sitting on a couch in a windowless, but well-lit, room. The only other thing in it was another couch opposite the one he was sitting on.

Okay, this isn't what I expected. I thought heaven would be a lot bigger than this, and a lot fancier.

His eyes snapped open wide (despite protests from his body) at that realisation.

_That's right, I died. The Archangel, Murrue! I hope they're all right… _

He got up slowly and headed for the only door in the room, curious as to where it led. But before he could get there, the door opened, revealing two strange-looking men. One man, the taller dark-haired one, was wearing a suit and shades that concealed his eyes. He had an air of authority about him as he glanced around the room. The other man was blond with eyeglasses that at the moment hid his eyes behind its glare. He was carrying a clipboard, and looked somewhat nervous as he seemed to explain something rather quickly and apologetically.

"Again? That's the third time!" the taller man threw his hands up in exasperation at what the other man was saying.

The blond man hung his head and sighed. "Yes, my team decided that he can't be gone yet, we still need him for the sequel."

The taller man raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure _they'd_ be satisfied with this?"

The other man nodded. "I'm sure some would be overjoyed at this. After all, he's pretty popular."

Mwu stared at the two men, frozen in spot. He wasn't sure what to do as they talked as if he wasn't there. He had started to hope this was just some weird dream when the two men stopped talking and glanced towards him, as if noticing for the first time that he was there.

"Ah, Flaga-san!" the taller man moved towards Mwu, hand outstretched. "So glad you can make it."

Mwu froze as the man stopped in front of him.

"Let me introduce ourselves. I am the producer, and that guy over there" —the blond guy gave a little wave— "Is the chief script writer."

Mwu shook the offered hand as his numb mind tried to process this new information.

_Producer? Scriptwriter? What on earth are those?_

The term "scriptwriter" seemed vaguely familiar, like he'd seen it someplace before, though he couldn't quite remember how or where.

"Now then," the scriptwriter started, "Since you're here, let's get down to business. The reason you're here is because of a little glitch in the script, and we need to fix it."

Mwu stared back at the man blankly. _Glitch? Script?_ He had no idea what the other man was babbling about. He must've looked confused and a bit scared, as the writer smiled reassuringly.

"Don't worry, all we're going to do is bring you back…with some minor changes."

_Back? Back where? _

Mwu stuck a hand absentmindedly into his uniform pocket (wait, where did that come from? Wasn't he wearing his pilot suit?) and his fingers found a small rectangular object. Not wanting to be rude by taking it out, he felt around to distinguish it.

_Oh, that's right, Waltfeld's book! _

He never did remember to read it. Suddenly, he remembered where he'd seen the word "scriptwriter" before, though he didn't know what the instructions had meant.

"…We do need your cooperation, oh, and your signature—for filing purposes." Presently, the voice of the writer snapped him back from his thoughts. Again, he didn't understand what the other man was talking about as a pile of paper was shoved toward him.

"Wait a minute!" Mwu held up his hand in protest. He had to understand what was going on—and what he'd be getting into—before agreeing to anything. "What's going on? I thought I was killed by the Lohengrin. Aren't I dead?" Mwu looked down at himself then, there were no wounds, no scratches, or anything that would indicate his sacrifice.

"Well, technically, yes, you _are_ dead," the writer answered.

Mwu blinked and stared at the two men as the answer sank in. "So…is this the afterlife then?"

The producer chuckled. "Well, not exactly." Then seeing Mwu's confusion, he added, "It's not important where you are now. Just sign the papers and you won't be dead anymore."

Mwu palmed his face. "So, let me get this straight," he said when he looked up, disbelief in his face, "I am dead, but if I sign this, you'll bring me back to life?" If he wasn't skeptical, he would've laughed at the absurdity of what he'd just said.

"That's exactly what we mean," the writer nodded.

Mwu stepped away from the two men slowly. Who were these people? They looked like humans, not some deity who controlled his fate.

"H-How? That's impossible!" he eyed them suspiciously.

The producer laughed. "But aren't you the man who can make the impossible possible?"

Mwu blinked. "Y-Yeah, but, this is," he opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, trying to find the right words, "This is like cheating death, and, well, it's just, _impossible_!"

"Don't worry Flaga-san," the writer patted Mwu's shoulder, "It's quite possible. Trust us, we'll take care of everything. Besides," he grinned, "You're not the first one. We've done the same for your friends, Andrew Waltfeld and Kira Yamato."

Mwu raised his eyebrows at what he'd just been told. _Is that how they managed to survive? Still… _

"But—" Mwu opened his mouth once again to protest the absurdity of the situation (not to mention the impossibility), but cut himself off as he realised what this would mean.

It'd mean that he would be given a second chance at life. It'd mean that he could be with Murrue again!

_Heck, why am I complaining! Who cares how it's done. _

"Alright, I agree," he told the two men.

"Good. Thank you for your cooperation," the producer grinned as he handed Mwu the document and a pen.

"Wait!" Mwu paused and looked up as he was about to sign. It was the writer. Mwu thought he saw the producer cast the writer an annoyed look, which he either didn't catch or chose to ignore.

"Before you sign that Flaga-san, there are certain…conditions, that you must agree to."

"Conditions?"

"Yes, sort of like payment for us bringing you back to life," the writer answered.

For a second, Mwu panicked as he remembered stories of how people sold their souls to the devils. "What sort of conditions?" he asked slowly.

The writer glanced at the producer before answering, "Oh you know, we just need to add some scars here and there, to add to the effect of how you survived."

Mwu breathed a sigh of relief. That wasn't too bad.

"Oh, and you'll need a new identity and some new memories."

"WHAT!" Mwu exclaimed.

The writer looked almost apologetic. "I'm sorry sir, but we have a new role for you to fill. And in order for you to be revived, you need to be in that role."

"Besides," the producer cut in, "You'd have to make a sacrifice in exchange for our services. We can't do this for free you know."

"I know, but…" Taking away his memories and identity? That'd mean he wouldn't remember what was important to him. "Isn't that a bit much?"

The producer shrugged. "Hey, Waltfeld had to give up an arm and a leg."

"I'd rather do that," Mwu muttered under his breath. "Hey wait!" he suddenly remembered something, "What about Kira? He didn't seem to sacrifice anything." After the incident, the kid seemed fine to Mwu, no missing body parts or memories. "How did he get off so easily?"

"Uh," the writer scratched his head as he tried to find an answer, "Well, he's the main character, and…"

"That's because Kira Yamato was underage," the producer cut in quickly.

Mwu raised an eyebrow at that.

"Look, your explosion was the most fatal, and the hardest to save." The producer looked slightly annoyed. "Are you going to agree or not?"

Mwu sighed. He didn't know what to do. He was tempted to take their offer, because he would have another chance at life, but it'd be at the price of losing himself. What kind of life would it be if he couldn't remember his past, and how would he live if he couldn't remember _her_? And what would she think, how would she feel, to have him show up out of nowhere and not remember a thing about her, about them? But then again, if he did take the offer, he'd have another chance to spend time with her.

Was he willing to take that chance?

_Damn it! _

Mwu placed his hands into his pockets again and felt for the book. He wondered if Waltfeld had to make a tough choice like this one when he was here. Now he wished he'd read that book.

"_If you ever find yourself in trouble, don't forget to bargain with the scriptwriter." _

Well, he did read a line of it. Hmm, maybe he _should_ try bargaining.

"If I do agree to your conditions and fill this role that you described, you have to let me be with Murrue in the end. And, this memory thing will only be temporary." he stated as he looked directly at the writer, hoping that his gaze was intense enough to make the writer give in.

Indeed, the writer looked away, uncomfortable. "Well, that is, well, it's not in the plan, and we don't know how we can fit it in…"

Mwu knitted his eyebrows. What? These people wouldn't let him be with his Murrue? But that was his whole reason for wanting to be brought back to life.

"If that's the case," he humphed, "Then the deal's off."

The producer looked irritated, "So would you rather stay dead then?"

Mwu narrowed his eyes. These people were not easy to bargain with. He sighed and wondered if Waltfeld had the same amount of trouble with he was here. Suddenly, he remembered the snippet of conversation he'd overheard between the producer and the writer when they walked in.

"…_My team decided that he can't be gone yet, we still need him for the sequel." _

Mwu wasn't sure what a "sequel" was, but it didn't matter at the moment. What was important was the fact that they still "needed him". Hmm, this could prove to be useful for bargaining…

"Look, I'll fulfill this role of yours," he began slowly, "I'm just asking is to be with Murrue and that my memories returned to me eventually. Besides, didn't you guys say you still need me for this 'sequel' thing?"

The producer and writer looked at each other, well, the producer looked accusingly to the writer, as if asking him to do something.

"Well," the writer flipped through the paper on his clipboard and pushed up his glasses that were sliding down his nose, "I suppose we _could_ make some changes to the script somehow."

A smug grin found its way to Mwu's face, which caused the producer to growl slightly he noted, but brushed it aside. He'd won after all. Even if his memories were going to be taken away, it'd only be temporary, and the thought that he would be with Murrue in the end made it sound not such a big deal. If he couldn't remember her, he'd just fall in love with her again, and he was sure that she would eventually accept him.

"So, do we have an agreement, Flaga-san?" the producer asked, tapping his foot impatiently.

Mwu nodded. "I suppose so."

"Alright then, we're set to go. Ready to be brought back to life?"

"Don't forget this Flaga-san," the writer piped in, tossing Mwu a grey-coloured helmet (where did it come from?).

"What's this?" Mwu asked as he turned the object in his hands.

"A mask," the writer answered. "It's part of your new character, you know, to add to the mystery, and to conceal your real identity until later."

Mwu raised an eyebrow. _Conceal my identity?_

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

The producer laughed, "Wear it of course!"

"I'm _not_ wearing this _thing_!" stated Mwu as he glanced at the mask in distaste, the cold glass eyes stared back at him. He refused to wear the ugly thing; after all, masks were something he associated with _that_ _man_.

"Come on Flaga-san, please? It's part of your new role," the writer looked pleadingly at Mwu, then at the blond man's discontent look, he added, "You don't have to wear it all the time, just for the first few months?"

"We already gave in to your conditions," the producer sighed, "Just do us all a favour and wear it would ya?"

Mwu narrowed his eyes at the mask. He didn't quite like this, but then sighed. Oh well, as long as things would end up the way he asked, he supposed he'd be willing to make another sacrifice…

And thus, is how Mwu La Flaga put on the mask and became…Darth V—

(Oops, sorry, wrong story. Let's try that again, shall we?)

And thus, is how Mwu La Flaga put on the mask and became…

_Neo Lorrnoke. _

THE END (Or is it the beginning?…)

* * *

_AN: hehe, can't help myself:D, but it seems that these guys have nine lives or something, surviving fatal explosions as if they were nothing. Nobody can seem to give a logic explanation of how Mwu managed to survive his explosion, (maybe because there are none) esp since he has those scars on his face, which means that his helmet would've been broken, meaning there wouldn't be any air for him to breath... so I created my own explanation XD_

_The idea actually came a while ago, when I reviewed for "La Flaga Effect" (go read it, it's hilarious!), and the author replied that maybe Mwu survived because he took a page out of Andy's book of survival tips... as for the ending, sorry, couldn't help myself, what with Mwu's relationship with Creuset and all..._

www. deviantart. com/ view/ 30173509/


End file.
